


Respite

by onedayer



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Post S3, Sherlolly - Freeform, molly needs a holiday, sherlock creeps about the countryside, sherlolly cafe prompt, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onedayer/pseuds/onedayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the 'extended version' of the prompt I submitted for the SherlollyCafe Fan Fic Awards contest. </p><p>SC1: Molly needs a break from work, life, and Sherlock confusing the hell out of her so she goes to her aunt’s cottage by the sea. And stays for longer than expected (she really racked up those vacation days). Sherlock follows her, determined to get her to come back (he doesn’t miss he, no he just wants those body…parts.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic! I originally wrote it for the SherlollyCafe, but it got away from me and begged for a smexy conclusion. Go big or go home, right? 
> 
> Big thank you to faye_tale for encouraging me on, and to allthebellsinvenice for her kind words of praise and super big help beta-ing!! Bless you both, my lil chickadees!

The salt air was the first thing that hit her as she woke. Molly slowly opened her eyes to the weak winter sun slanting through the thin curtains. She could hear the rush of waves crashing on the distant shore beyond. At last, peace, serenity and a chance to recover from the awful year she'd had.

Molly had often visited this seaside cottage on summer holiday when growing up. When her aunt Clara had died five years ago, she had willed the cozy home to her sisters’ only daughter, who had enjoyed so many happy memories there, collecting seashells on the rocky shore and spending afternoons playing make believe and having picnics on the breezy cliffs.

She had seldom come to visit in the years since, what with Sherlock’s death and burying herself in her work to escape. Then she met Tom, and it had seemed it was time to 'get on with her life'. So the caretaker had been surprised when she received a call from Molly shortly after the New Year, letting her know she wanted the house let for a short visit.

The little village, a bit quaint and backwards, was perched on the Cornish coast. It was a popular destination for tourists and urban holidayers alike during the warm summer months. But now, in the dregs of late winter, it was all but deserted, save for the hardy locals, many who had known Molly since a child. They often asked about her work, and were very impressed that their little Molly had grown up to be a doctor, though some a bit morbidly impressed when they found out her specialty. "Won’t you come work at the surgery up the hill, then, now that Doc Baker retired, Molly?” asked the jolly fellow who ran the café. “I’m not that kind of Doctor, Mike," she said with a smile. But it was kind that they thought that much of her.

She had been at the cottage for nearly a fortnight, and was finally starting to relax. She actually didn't know how long it had been since she had not kept a rigorous work schedule, and didn't really know how to relax for the first few days. But after the events a Christmas, all she knew was that she needed to get away; somewhere that she didn't have to think, or do, but could simply 'be'.

Molly didn't know how long she planned to stay but when she had told her boss she was due a holiday, he encouraged her to take all the time she needed. Especially being as she rarely had taken time off during her tenure at Bart’s, much to his consternation.

••00••

When Sherlock had returned it had a mixed blessing. At first sight she had been relived and grateful he had survived his two year ‘death’. She had impulsively rushed to hug him. When he returned her embrace, folding her against this lean form, the warmth of his body seeping into her skin, she knew without a doubt that she has only been fooling herself.

Tom was fine. Tom was nice. Tom was not Sherlock. 

As each day passed, the fallacy of her illusion became more apparent. For the first few months, she tried to tell herself it didn't matter. Tom loved her, he was good looking, he was dependable; he was good enough and she certainly was not getting any younger.

Then came John and Mary’s wedding, and that perfectly awful (and lovely) girl was flirting with him! And he was flirting back! She had felt many things for Sherlock over the years; adoration, vexation, infatuation, but never real jealously. Then she knew.

Faced with a self-imposed crisis she could neither postpone nor evade, days after the reception, Tom had come to her flat and demanded his ring back. She didn't even try to protest or act affronted when he had confronted her.

"You're in love with him. Aren’t you." It was more of a statement than a question. She nodded mutely.  
Before he had turned to leave, he leaned in and placed a caste kiss on her cheek.

"I hope you will be very happy, Molly Hooper." The irony was deafening.

••00••

Molly came back to her surroundings in a start when a great gust of wind rattled the windows. She rose from bed, put on her robe and slippers and padded down the short hall to the kitchen. She found Toby perched anxiously at the end of the kitchen counter, staring at a small crack in the wall. When Molly's entrance startled him, he gave a disgruntled meow.

"Still trying to catch that silly mouse, city cat?" Toby purred and pushed into her hand begging for affection. Then she went about her morning routine, fixing her coffee and fussing with her kitty.

This sleepy fishing village was a place to just escape, and to go unnoticed for a little while. Now though, she was starting to become restless. She planned to walk into the village, like she did nearly every day. She would wander the shelves of the tiny dusty bookstore, or pick up a few things at the market. Mrs. Thompson, the pharmacist was always very kind to her. She didn’t pry as to why Molly was visiting the village at this odd time of year; she could see the sad tiredness in the young woman’s face, she knew the look of love lost.

Walks along the cliffs on a gray day like this reminded her of the sadness in Tom’s eyes on their last meeting. But as often as not, her memories would return to eyes of dazzling blue and green, like a calm sea after the storm. She shook her head to rid herself of the haunting image, and grabbed her coat from the hall. She looked out the window and wondered on this blustery day if it was even worth it to try to walk into the village for a new book. Just then, a soft rain began to beat at the windows, the weather was not going to be agreeable after all it seemed; so instead she settled on the sofa with a gossip magazine to wait out the shower.

But a few minutes later, she was surprised to hear a knock at the door.

••00••

She let him in of course. It was raining outside after all.

"Sherlock what are you doing here?" she gasped as she took his damp coat and hung it in the hall. "Are you all right? Is Mary alright?"

"Mary is fine. I however am in need of your assistance. There is an incompetent oaf running the morgue at Bart's in your absence," Sherlock sniffed.

“Oh," was all she could think to say.

His eyes flitted to her face and over her body so quickly that if one blinked they might not notice. But she knew him too well; in those fractured seconds he could read everything about her. Molly internally cursed at the self-conscious thought of drat she should have put on some mascara or maybe done her hair. Of all the times for Sherlock Holmes to arrive on her doorstep! His gaze was questioning as he met her eyes and she was startled. She would have expected to find another emotion there, imperious or irritated. Instead he looked curious, and that seemed incongruous to the words he had just spoken. Wait, why was he really here?

Then irritation crept in. "Sherlock, do you mean to tell me that you hired a car and drove all the way out here to try to drag me back to work from my holiday? That's a lot of nerve, and thank you very much, I'm afraid you have wasted a trip. And how did you find me anyway?”

Sherlock barely suppressed an eye roll and let out an exasperated sigh. "Really Molly, must you even ask? Public records show you are in ownership of property here and your passport has not shown you had left the country…."

"You ran my passport?!" she asked incredulously. Of course, why not? Who needs security clearance when you're bloody Sherlock Holmes?

Sherlock took a step closer into her space, uncomfortably close in fact. She could feel his warmth radiating from his body (must be the chill from outdoors) and his signature delicious scent of fine leather and spice and bergamot (and oh, that's heavenly, stop it Molly!) and could feel his breath as he spoke his next words.  
"Molly, I came to ask for your help. I require something specific."

"What... what do you need?" She asked haltingly. (Why were his eyes so damnably beautiful? Can she even be expected to form sentences in their presence?)

He lifted his hand to her face and turned her chin up to meet his eyes. "I need you, Molly." Before she could think to protest or agree, he had pressed his lips to hers and she immediately melted into his passionate kiss.

Her hands involuntary crept into his jacket, and as she slid her palms slowly up his warm chest, she felt his murmur of approval against her lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her abruptly against his body, where she could feel actual heat radiating off him now; the evidence of his affection pressed against her, causing an immediate and very noticeable chemical reaction in her body.

She returned his kiss enthusiastically. He pressed her a step back until her back to the wall, one hand tangled in her loose hair and slid his other hand down to grab her behind, tilting his hips into hers with just enough pressure to cause her to go weak in the knees. She drew back to look him in the eyes and took in a gorgeous sight to behold, his pupils dilated, breath slightly ragged and chest heaving. 

"Molly I need you," he repeated, his voice grown thick, his iridescent eyes lush with desire boring into her. "I want you. I want to feel you; I want to make you scream my name as you come on my cock."

Those words sent a heady rush of endorphins coursing through her veins, causing all rational thought to cease. She pushed off his jacket and it fell to the floor. In one deft movement, he lifted her hips and slid her higher up the wall. His hand snaked under her jumper, finding her taut nipples and rolling his thumbs over them that sent electric shocks straight to her core. She wrapped her legs around his waist, as he ground his erection into her center while he sucking hard marks into her neck, breathlessly and mindlessly repeating her name over and over like a mantra.

Without missing a beat he carried her still wrapped around his waist the few steps to the bedroom and laid her upon the cover. He crouched over her, covering her with kisses as he first lifted her jumper over her head, then unfastened her lacy bra, sucking each hard nipple with an enthusiasm unmatched in anything in Molly's experience. He unbuttoned her jeans and helped her shimmy out of them, pausing to stroke her creamy thighs, brushing lightly over her already soaked knickers. He reached for the buttons on his shirt, but was surprised when she said "No." His hand froze midair and with a slightly horrified expression on his face.

Molly sat up on the bed, hugging his body between her legs. "No Sherlock," she said with a grin, "let me." The look of relief spelled out over his fact was priceless. She began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, kissing the exposed skin at each button. She slipped her hands down the hard plains of his torso, reveling in the physicality only hinted at in his well fit suits. Defined pectorals and ripped abs, surely this was a dream she thought. The goose flesh on his belly told her otherwise as she placed hot kisses on his shivering skin.

She reached for his waistband next, undoing the zip and dropping both the trouser and pants to the floor.

"I want to taste you," she said and dipped her head to take the tip of his cock in her mouth. She watched his eyes widen in surprise, then flutter closed as she licked stripes from the base to tip and swirled her tongue over the hot head. When she bobbed on his dick in earnest his hips lurched and he steadied himself by grasping her hair tightly. She felt his body stiffen and his hand clench her hair more tightly then presently grasped her shoulders and drew her back gently, repeating her command.

"No Molly," he growled, "now it's your turn." 

He crushed his lips to hers, then pushed her back onto the bed and knelt on the floor before her. He smiled at the lovely sight. Her legs draped wide, nude but for a small slip of fabric covering her mound, balanced on her elbows upon the bed, gazing at him with lust filled eyes. With reverence he lowered his head to pepper kisses on her breasts, then her belly and down her thighs. He felt the thin fabric with his thumb, already damp through with her wetness. Molly jerked her hips involuntary searching for more pressure. Sherlock tentatively drew them to the side and felt her slick folds. Not content with such restricted access, he slipped them off and tossed them over his head with a flourish that made Molly giggle. He turned his attention to her fully naked form and for a moment simply stared in wonderment.

"Molly," he intoned deeply, "I need you, I have always needed you. I want you. I want to hold you and claim you. I want to never let you go."

Molly's eyes shown with tears and her heart swelled. Sherlock’s face broke into a smile, his genuine smile, that made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, and leaned in capture her lips. As the kiss deepened, his hands began to wander, first to cup her breasts then trailing down her body to seek her sweet warmth again.

Soon she found he had his face inches from her sex, his hot breath making her shiver in the chill room. He used his nimble fingers to gently spread her thighs and send a swipe of his tongue across her wet slit. She gasped as her hips jerked upward. Sherlock worked at her dripping cunt, teasing and sucking until her found her hard nub, which caused Molly to cry out in surprise. He slowly worked in one finger into her hot wetness and then added a second which drew a whining mewl from her lips that made Sherlock grin with pride. As he curled his fingers in and out of her wet heat, Molly presently began to feel that fire building in her thighs that quickly spread downward and outward as her orgasm pulsed through her body, leaving her a whimpering, writhing mess.

Sherlock drew her close to him on the bed then, cradling her in his arms and stroking her hair. He leaned in and kissed her lips fully; she reveled in their lush softness and the taste of herself upon them. He positioned himself between her thighs and grasped his thick cock, pausing as he gazed into her heavy lidded eyes. Molly bit her lip in anticipation and nodded the slightest assent to his silent question.

He slid into her wetness in a few short strokes. Molly was amazed to feel how full she felt with his impressive girth and sucked in a sharp breath when their hips finally met. He began pressing into her with languidly, allowing her to adjust, but she soon felt his body tensing as he increased speed and pressure. He took his time building a crescendo within her body and she thought, perhaps setting it to music. She felt him hum into her throat occasionally and wondered briefly, with what little brain power was still persisting, if Sherlock Holmes could compose music while making love and she supposed that it was entirely possible. 

Molly wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, the shift in her hips driving him deeper into her, and forcing a deep groan from his throat. As he pressed into her with urgency, Molly's hands entwined in his glorious curls; she pulled upon his locks tightly as she felt her edge approaching. Her walls began to clamp tightly around his cock and he moaned loudly as her cry of his name strangled out her throat and she bucked her hips as her orgasm ripped through her body. He followed her quickly, tumbling over his edge, crying out with intensity. As Molly floated in the afterglow, she was surprised to notice Sherlock mumbling in between sprinkling kisses into the crook of her neck.

"Dopamine."  
"Adrenaline."  
"Oxytocin." 

 

“Sherlock?” she murmured inquisitively as she met his eyes. This was the weirdest pillow talk she had ever heard of, but look at the source.

“Sentiment,” he answered, then swept his tongue between her parted lips and captured her breath.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I'm sure there's at least one punctuation error that I've missed, but I hope it doesn't detract too much.


End file.
